


Trespassing

by clonesagainsthumanity



Category: Who Killed Markiplier, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Ghosts, Horror, Markiplier - Freeform, Possession, Supernatural - Freeform, Violence, Who Killed Markiplier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 14:52:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15910503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clonesagainsthumanity/pseuds/clonesagainsthumanity
Summary: JimNews goes to explore Markiplier Manor, one year after the horrific events of Who Killed Markiplier.However, they forgot that they needed permits to do this.(this is an AU)





	Trespassing

As the Jimnews van stopped by the side of the road, Jim gulped. He swallowed not out of fear or intimidation; In actuality, he did so out of excitement. He’d been waiting all year for this. With every glance, another memory fluttered behind his eyes: they’d scoured countless newspapers looking for a story that would put Jim News on the map, whether that be an expensive burglary, celebrity drama, or, in this case, murder.  
Jim had suspected that something sinister was brewing beyond the entrance to the manor. Surely, anyone who locked themselves alone in a place made for whole families was up to no good. So, he and Jim had been keeping tabs on this ‘Markiplier’. It wasn’t hard to do so, of course, since Markiplier’s favorite thing to do other than relish in his great wealth was to spread his popularity throughout the whole country through the Newspaper. Try as he might, his name never left the town… until a year ago.  
It was early October, and the remnants of summer could be found everywhere: the sun, staring down at them as it made its descent below the hills; the trees, their leaves just starting to become more vibrant; a warm wind occasionally brushing past them. Here, though, everything changed: dark clouds swirled above them, threatening to drown the two reporters; a cold and bitter wind was striking the leaves and tearing them from their trees… a storm was preparing to cascade onto this home. They would have to work quickly.  
Jim left the safety of the van, a fire of determination in his heart that could match the fury of the storm, and then some. Ever since they’d dropped the case, he’d felt drawn to the manor. In every dream, every moment where his mind drifted from reality, he saw the house. Sometimes, when he looked into a mirror, he could still see the tape outline behind him. They’d abandoned the case due to lack of evidence. Well, maybe if they revisited where it happened, the evidence would call to him like the house itself did.  
“Jim?” His brother called. In his arms was what they used to immortalize their discoveries: a bulky, top-heavy camera.  
“You coming?”  
Jim turned on his heel, giving their van one last look. It was a busted, equally bulky, off-white vehicle, with “Jim news” painted on both sides. The paint had become chipped and worn down after only a few months, so now the words were completely unreadable. Unless you were the one who painted the words on there. Cameras, however expensive, were replaceable. But this van… no car could match the memories made within there. Each speckle of paint told a different story, even if it was just a joke told between the two brothers, or a grunt of frustration as the red paint dribbled down the door. Memories, the one thing you couldn’t replace. The things you can’t take back.  
Finally, Jim turned on his heel and looked towards the manor. The gloomy home fit like a puzzle piece into its surroundings, full and yet empty. It stood out starkly against its surroundings, towering above the trees like they were mere shrubs. One would wonder if they could touch the end of the sky from it’s highest peak. Jim wondered himself, could their fingertips tear the atmosphere from the roof of this building?  
It’s magnitude was mesmerizing. He could stand here for hours, staring at the magnificent manor, and still, more details would reveal themselves. The meticulously placed bricks climbed up the walls, making the manor a fortified building capable of fending off the storm. Jim took a step forward, and the beauty only multiplied. To be closer to this place was so enticing. It begged for him to warm it with his presence, to put the space to some use, to invite friends to do the same. Another step, and again, the home cried out to him. Please, explore the depths, take a foot upon my creaking floor and discover the secrets my moribund owner. What could Jim do other than accept this offer? It was what he came here to do, of course. So, he took another step, then another. His brother did the same, casting a glance at him, and then back at the gigantic manor.

The depths of the manor were a liberation from the storm brewing outside. Once the door shut behind them, all fell silent, and the two stood in awe at the wonder of the house.  
“Still holds up pretty well,” His brother mused, adjusting his glasses and running a hand through his hair.  
Jim was right, he observed. Despite the neglect this manor surely endured, it was completely pristine and free of grime. Not a drip of water was heard, so there were no leaks. The floors ceased to creak. The house was encapsulated in silence, lost in time. It was frozen on Friday the 13, 192X.  
The two walked forward, continuing to take in the surroundings they’d both seen before. Back then, they’d only caught brief glances. Their camera wasn’t high quality enough to catch the grace of the manor. Worse, they’d been running from a potentially bloodthirsty detective. But now, Jim could wander the manor as if it were his own, his brother following with their prized camera.  
“Wow, this place is spooky. Right, are you ready to start recording…?”  
A voice called from behind him. After a moment, it chimed again.  
“...Jim?”  
The voice was his brother. Why had it seemed so alien?  
“Jim, are we going to start recording soon?”  
“I'm… not sure…”  
“What?”  
In all honesty, Jim wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to record. By hesitating, he was refraining from doing his own job. Pondering the predicament he had just spawned, he remained silent. His job was not only his passion, but, unfortunately, an obligation. It paid his bills, and fed him and his child. If he didn’t at least record his findings, he would have to resort to the weather again, and he was terrible at describing the weather.  
Still, he couldn’t even bring himself to retrieve his phone from his pocket and take photos. The action felt like a chore, like a crude action that he wasn’t interested in doing in the first place. This manor was too beautiful, too sacred, to be deserving of the graffiti that was journalism.  
As if to prove his point, the lights that they’d turned on when they entered suddenly went out. They were engulfed in darkness, and Jim’s brother let out a great shriek. Jim felt strangely calm. He knew this place.  
“Jim! I can’t see anything!”  
“This place doesn’t want us to film, Jim. I know it. Its secrets, they’re meant for us, and us only.”  
“What?”  
There was no point in answering.  
At least, until Jim sighed, and added, “Jim, I don’t like this. I don’t like how you’re… Can we come back tomorrow?”  
His brother’s voice dripped with feigned concern. Why was he trying to take him away, Jim wondered. The wind howled from outside. This place… it needed them to stay. Or, at the very least, just him.  
So, rather than replying, he continued up the stairs alone. The thunder drowned out the sound of his brother calling his name.

The storm was in full force now. The sound of hail hitting countless shingles made a wonderful symphony, with Jim’s footsteps as the beat. He wandered the darkness, carried by his will alone, strolling deeper and deeper into the manor. His mind was empty, occupied only by this one motivation to wander. Eventually, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, but it didn’t matter, he could see either way.  
Even with the storm screaming outside, the house was quiet. Jim could not recall how long he walked. To him, the journey didn’t matter, only the destination that his travels would take him to. And, with the house as his guide, any destination was worth the wait.  
Suddenly, a dark, wooden door took up his whole vision. It must’ve been a few feet away, and yet it was all Jim could see. Like the entrance to the manor, it called to him, begged for him to step inside. And that he did. Jim turned the pristine doorknob, and opened the door wide.  
This room was the only one that revealed its age. A window had broken, who knows how long ago, and tainted the insides with mother nature. No longer was the room as deserving of high regard as the rest of the house. Shadows painted the room. No, they weren’t shadows. Even in the darkness, they caught Jim’s eye. It was darker than darkness. It was mold, brought in from rain and a year without repair. Still, Jim stepped inside with cool calmness, no longer looking for answers.  
His eyes locked onto the broken window. The perpetrator reflected shattered moonlight into the room. Was the storm clearing already? How long had he been walking?  
The broken glass lead Jim like cookie crumbs to the shattered window. He waltzed over wilted pillows and desecrated laundry, peering out onto the courtyard. This room felt different. Despite being destroyed, it felt almost homely compared to his own bedroom.  
But there was something he didn’t like about this chamber.  
Facing the bed was a dresser, which held a mirror above it. When he’d first entered the room, it hadn’t phased him, but then again, he had not necessarily noticed it. Now, he knew he would have to pass by it yet again. He knew that he would not be able to conceal the urge. His vision sharpened, heart thumping in his chest as he took slow, cautious steps towards the mirror. Regret sat in the pit of his stomach. To enter this room, to further tarnish what was once so beautiful, was certainly a sin, and it felt like, already, he was being punished for it. Every step he took had been too reckless, too disrespectful to the massive grave that was this place. With each step, he held back the urge to turn around. A primal feeling crawled through his brain, whispering, there’s someone behind you. He pushed these feelings aside, over and over again, but they always returned, more intense than the last time.  
Finally, he reached the dresser. It was black, with elaborate details carved into the wood. On the surface was a layer of what looked like dark marble, which reflected the light coming in through the window. Drawers were pulled outwards or thrown out completely, and Jim didn’t dare to touch them. He was sure the closed drawers would be too tight to close, anyways. As he scanned over the dresser one more time, something caught his eye. It was a piece of paper, no, a letter, moldy and decomposed. The ink had become smeared and worn down, so now the words were completely unreadable, unless you were the one who painted the words on there. Somehow, though, he could read the words perfectly:  
‘Jim and Jim XXXXX,’  
A gasp escaped from his mouth. Markiplier had… or, was going to… send them a letter? What would he send? His rapid thoughts gave no room for logic. He tore the letter open with shaking hands, retrieving the paper and squinting to read the text.  
‘You have been cordially invited to XXXXXXXXX Markiplier Manor at XXXXXXXX’  
To read the words again and again did not dilute their meaning. It was true, this was no dream, Jim and his brother could have been victims of that infinite tragedy. In shock, he went over the words more and more, trying to see through the blurry ink, to finish the puzzle when so many pieces were still missing. Why were they invited? And why were they never given the note? Was it a stroke of luck? Or a spit to the face?  
With enough abruptness to make Jim gasp again, a shiver forced its way up his body. The cold winds had finally made their way to the flesh beneath his clothes. He shuddered, setting the letter down on the damp dresser to rub their arms. As he did so, a stinging pain struck his left palm, He brought his burning hand to the dim moonlight.  
Shadows were painted across his hand. No, not shadows, something darker, that shone with a red tint in the light…  
Blood.  
Had he cut his hand on the glass, or stumbled on his way to this room? He couldn’t recall. As he looked upon the dresser again, he found that it’s dampness was not of water, but of sticky crimson. Without thinking, he glanced into the mirror, and the sight made him recoil with fright. His vision had faltered, for just a moment, and he could’ve sworn he was wearing deep red fabrics. But no, he appeared again as himself: a terrified, messied man, with blood on his shirt from his dripping hand.  
And behind him, lay the dead owner.  
Lightning cracked, louder than his scream, and in the light he saw the dead man stand up behind him. Jim stumbled back, hitting the end of the bed and crying out as he landed onto the cushions. Lightning struck again, and he could almost feel the electricity surge through the home and through his shaking body. The lighting’s colors were blinding and unnatural, and the sound made his ears ring painfully until he couldn’t hear at all. His vision slurred with the distorted world surrounding him: The flashing lights within the manor, and the lightning crackling outside. Jim’s body burned. He scratched at his throat, as bile rose from his stomach. Something rose from his torso. It was forcing its way out, as lightning hid the evidence.  
Then, it was over. Jim was swallowed by the manor, thrown into an infinite reflection, while his body lay motionless on Markiplier’s bed. Through his askew and distorted vision, he watched the figure- himself- stand from the bed. It gave him not even a sideways glance, simply dusting itself off and leaving the room. The lightning died down, replaced by red and blue flashes. The ringing became sirens, echoing from outside the manor.  
The devilish soul once concealed within his own subconscious had been unleashed through the monstrous house.  
But their first experience would be to explain why they and their brother were trespassing Markiplier Manor.


End file.
